Two Eyes Cenote In Heavy Mist, In Glitter Dust

Soft brown eyes were the hearth in which he housed his trust. Hopeful and desperate for Machiavelli's answer, only to fall to the floor at the limited instruction. Ears drawn tightly to his skull. The furrow in his brow being dug deeper.

Mind your manners.

Frustration sparked in his chest. Burning teeth is sunk into his core as heat traveled up his neck, across his face, and behind his eyes. Smoke threatened to make them water but Rooke quickly blinked away the sting before they welled.

He wouldn't be standing in Muat-Riya if he had. He would have been firmer with a "No, thank you!" when Machi offered to take him to the blue palace. He wouldn't be risking his only friend's neck by being a nuisance to a foreign pack.

He is directed into the pool and Rooke obeyed wordlessly. The cool water a relief to weary limbs. Flames doused, Rooke vents steam through his nose with a heavy sigh. Watching the scarce light dance across the ripples.

Rooke glanced back to Machi sidelong. He didn't understand. Rooke never really was good at understanding. His family made sure he knew that. He wanted to. He wanted to understand what was expected of him in this strange place. Why apparent gods wanted him at their table. Why even bother with him?

Rooke frowned at his reflection.

They said you had to prepare dinner. His voice was soft as he diverted the topic.